


Encounter On A London Street

by JohnAmendAll



Category: The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
Genre: 500 prompts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian is offered help by a stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encounter On A London Street

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a '500 prompts' meme. Prompt 144, from [lost_spook](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook): "Then maybe I will stand here - Marian Halcombe"
> 
> Set early in the Third Epoch of The Woman in White.

_7 November._ My poor Laura had another wretched night last night, and I was obliged to sit up with her until past two. When I woke this morning I felt the lack of sleep bitterly, though I concealed it as best I could for her sake. I found we had used the last of her tonic, so went out after breakfast to buy more, along with such food and other supplies as we needed and could find the money for. 

What should have been a matter of five minutes' shopping at the market turned into closer to an hour, and I am sorry to say I spoke quite sharply to an obtuse tradesman who hardly deserved the rough edge of my tongue. No more than a few weeks in London, and I am already the equal of any fishwife at vituperation. When — if! — we are restored to the society of our younger days, I dread to imagine what might happen if any of my expanded vocabulary should slip out. 

By the time I reached the chemist's shop, I felt nearly at my wits' end. The door was locked, and a paper stuck to the glass informed me that the shop was closed until further notice, on account of family illness. Between my concern for the kindly chemist who had so often helped us in our wretchedness, my worries for Laura's health, and my own fatigue, I confess that I gave myself up to despair. For what must have been at least ten minutes I sat on the chemist's doorstep, with no thought in my mind or hope in my heart. Is it possible that I shed a tear or two? Let us say that it was the rain. 

I was called back to myself by a hand on my shoulder. 

"Are you all right?" a woman's voice asked. I looked up, and realised some passer-by was bending over me. A look at her face and clothes was enough to reassure me that she had not been one of Sir Percival's servants, nor of Count Fosco's. In person, she was young, with fair hair, and it was plain from her fine clothes that she was not from our poor neighbourhood, or anywhere like it. Perhaps she was on an errand of charity, or she felt it her duty to exhort us to live more worthy lives. In our weeks here, I have encountered numerous examples of both types of lady. 

"I am well," I said. 

"But there's something wrong, isn't there?" she persisted. I had not often encountered such directness in a philanthropic young lady. Taking her manner and her accent (which was certainly not aristocratic) together, I wondered if her beginnings were just as humble as the street she now stood in. "What's the matter?" 

"If I started telling you, there is a possibility I may not stop for some considerable time," I replied. 

As if she were no better than the plain working woman I now am, she sat down beside me on the chemist's top step. 

"I've got the time," she said. "Let's hear it." 

I began with the commonplace struggles of the morning — the trouble I had had finding what I needed at the market, the greed and stupidity of tradesmen, and so forth. When I came to my frustration at the closure of the chemist's shop, I felt it necessary to mention, in as few words as possible, Laura's present state of health. 

"Have you asked a doctor?" the young lady said. 

"Our money is tight," I said. It was a glib excuse, for we had managed to keep some of our savings back, in case of emergency. I found myself adding "Besides, we have other reasons to avoid placing ourselves in the power of strangers." 

I had revealed too much — I knew as soon as I said those words! — but even as the young lady leaned eagerly forward to hear my tale, I managed to remember that, innocent and helpful though she appeared, she might yet prove to be connected to our enemies. I gave her no more than the barest sketch of our predicament, taking care not to mention any details that could betray us. 

"Sounds like you're really up against it," she said, once I had told her all I felt I could. "Look, I've got a friend — he's a doctor. Maybe he can help." 

"How?" I asked. If a doctor were to see Laura, perhaps he could indeed help to restore her to her former health — or he might decide, there and then, that she should be returned to the Asylum. 

She made a vague gesture. "I dunno. He'd have to talk it over with you. Maybe there's something he could give your sister, even if it's just to help her sleep." 

"If I cared less for her, I'd have been dosing her with laudanum these past three weeks," I said. "Why should a doctor, a stranger to her, do any different?" 

"He wouldn't just drug someone to keep her quiet." I could see in her eyes that I was guilty of the worst slander, merely for making the suggestion. "He's a good man." She paused for a moment in thought. "Maybe we could find somewhere safe for you. Safer than round here, I mean. Where you don't have to worry about whoever's looking for you all the time." 

"Where would you propose to hide us?" I asked. Did this young lady have a notion of her friend's concealing us from Sir Percival in some remote country house? Or of sending us further away, to America or Canada? I doubted that Laura's constitution would withstand a long sea voyage. 

She shook her head. "I don't know. We'd have to talk it through." 

I found the vagueness of her reply worrying. Perhaps I should not judge others by my own standards, but if I had been in her place, I would have had two or three suggestions to offer by the time I had finished making the offer. Perhaps she was not a creature of Sir Percival or the Count, but I feared her carelessness might still betray us into their hands. 

"I must thank you for your time and thought," I said. "I'm sure your offers of help were kindly meant. But I don't believe my sister's health will permit her..." 

She laid a hand on mine. "You don't have to give reasons," she said. "I don't know you, and you don't know me. If you don't want to trust a stranger I can understand that." 

"Thank you once more for your kindness," I said. We got to our feet. I opened my mouth to bid her a polite goodbye, then decided that I owed her more. She had spoken plainly and honestly to me, as nearly as I could tell: I ought to return the favour. 

"You deserve to hear my reasons," I said. "And I shall give them to you. It is not simply that my sister's health is fragile, or that you and I are strangers, meeting by chance. Your suggestion, kindly meant though I'm sure it was, is that we should run away." 

"Only 'til your sister's feeling better." 

"We have tried what you suggest: travelling to places where we ought to be safe, or putting ourselves in the hands of those who say they have our interests at heart. And you can see for yourself where that has brought us. I dare not risk further delay. The conspiracy against my sister must be broken. Here, and nowhere else, we shall make our stand." 

I suppose she saw in my face that argument was useless, for she made no attempt to change my mind. She clasped my hand, bade me a polite farewell, and was gone. 

For my part, I went in search of another chemist's shop — making sure, as far as I could, that I was not being watched or followed. Perhaps there will come a day when I will be able to trust the kindness of strangers once more. For now, the three of us must walk our path alone.


End file.
